After a couple of interviews, he had finally gotten the job. He was the new intern at the Faculty of Fine Arts. And at the beginning of each month, for a whole year, he would receive his corresponding stipend. Although the amount was rather meager, the job itself was free of major complications. One could even say that his tasks were quite simple, even if, at times, professors would call on him for technical help with such vehemence that he ended up feeling a bit overwhelmed.
His workplace, shared with other employees, was set in a spacious office on the same floor—and just a few meters away—from the office of the faculty's dean.
The dean was an old, gray-haired man. He hardly resembled the professor the intern remembered from taking his course not that many years ago. Still, some spark of youth must have remained in him, because every now and then he would make a bombastic entrance into the office, striking some exaggerated pose he assumed to be amusing, while squinting his eyes. For some reason the intern had yet to figure out, these appearances left him feeling somewhat... uneasy. In fact, something about those papery eyes, secretly, terrified him.
Earlier I said the job had no major complications. That was a lie—there was something that unsettled him. A kind of almost agonizing howl that, every so often, could be heard in the distance.
"Must be one of those drunken vagrants that wander around the entrance," the dean's secretary would mutter, as if trying to downplay it.
The intern was quite lazy. One afternoon, to escape the mob of professors constantly pestering him with errands, he left a few minutes early. But the secretary, who wasn't stupid at all, noticed it, and he eventually had to make up for that moment of revelry. How did he make up for it? By coming in after hours to sort through some papers that had been piling up for months at the front desk. At least, the task wasn't as draining as the things he'd been doing lately. And everything would have gone smoothly if not for that deep, gravelly voice that called out to him from one end of the hallway. It was the dean, requiring his presence. So, with a heavy heart, he walked the short corridor which, at that hour, was completely deserted.
The dean's office was smaller than one might expect, but it still featured a plush armchair, some handsome books, and a shelf stocked with assorted liquors. The dean liked his drinks. The only element in that office that struck a discordant note was a rickety door behind the armchair.
"Student, could I ask you a little favor?"—those words were murmured in a voice both sweet and trembling.
"You see, it seems I've unfortunately misplaced the key to my liquor cabinet. Surely you can understand that a poor old man like me needs a little something to warm his throat, especially on these cold autumn evenings."
His glassy eyes glimmered for a moment before dimming again.
"All I ask, student, is whether you might be so kind as to go through the door behind my chair and into the adjoining room, where I keep a copy of all the keys to the building. I'd do it myself gladly—it's not my intention to bother you. But the lighting in there is dreadful, and my eyes are quite tired from dealing with the faculty paperwork this late. Besides, there's a bit of damp in that room, which does my weary bones no good. You, on the other hand, are young and spry. I know you won't deny me this small favor."
Indeed, the intern couldn't say no. He opened the door and made his way as best he could through a vast room, filled with who knows what. It was all in shadows and smelled terrible. The only thing visible was a faint light glimmering in the far back. Since he could barely see anything and found no key anywhere, he decided to feel his way toward that distant source of light.
Imagine his horror when he discovered, tied up on a table, the tortured and lifeless body of the dean of the Faculty of Fine Arts.
He had, at last, uncovered the mystery behind that agonizing howl he sometimes heard from the office. Now, he only had to unravel the last enigma: what was it that, at that very moment, was breathing behind his ear?